The Running of Water
by Duilin
Summary: ...changes everything. And Feanor, of all people, is in my living room. -Part of the Plush Toy Collaboration.
1. The Letter Given to Me

**Well,** **hello there. I am Duilin, lover of The Silmarillion. I love it so much that I have officially decided to write about my life with a plushie-turned-real-Elf. No, I have not gone mad.  
><strong>You see, it's part of this collaboration; _Plush Toy Series_ is on my profile, if you'd like more information on it!. If you'd like to join, you can PM me. The list of character's is on my good friend Cracker's profile.

**Sorry that this chapter is quite long, but I had to introduce myself somehow.**

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><p>-O-<p>

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><p>The light was blinding.<p>

And then, I lifted my head, meeting the gazes of several people as I realised that I had dozed off in the middle of _class_. Class. The one thing that I had to come this university for, and I had completely dismissed everything because I had been drowsy. So much for being a model student. I exchanged a glance with Will, the boy who sat next to me. He simply shook his head, locks of soft brown hair falling in front of his eyes, and I let out an inaudible sigh, relieved that I had not been caught.

It would have been perfectly fine, had I not done this for the fifth time in a row.

My mind was wandering, that much I could tell, but why was this happening to me? I consumed plenty of coffee this morning to ensure that I would not fall asleep, and I still did so.

When class was dismissed, I gathered my things, and the professor came up to me with a paper. Hesitant, I took it.

"This is a recommendation letter, to do research with Professor Linda Norris, on the west campus." Professor Bern's eyes twinkled knowingly. "I know that you would be interested in this sort of thing, so I suggested you for it. She'll be ready to see you on Monday."

I skimmed through the letter and found that my throat was dry and locked. I couldn't find any words to say. "Professor...I don't know how to thank you - "

"Just do your best," he replied. "I haven't seen Linda in a long time—tell her I said hello."

Breathing in, I nodded and proceeded to walk out the door, noting that it was original mahogany. But then, Professor Bern's voice stopped me, drifting to to me like a mist, but halting me like a stone wall. "I'm curious; are you having sleeping problems? This is the third time you fell asleep in class, and I've heard from Dr. Axel that you're fallen asleep in his class at least once as well."

My posture stiffened, and I could tell he could see it as well. "No... I am very sorry. It's probably lack of vitamins."

"Well, if you're sure... I hear that the hospital wing is only a few minutes walk from your dormitory."

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><p>I almost sighed in relief as I walked from the building.<p>

The books seemed heavier than usual, but I kept my eyes open in case I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. Then, I was startled fully awake by the cell-phone vibrating in my pocket. Rolling my eyes, because I figured it out, I pulled out the phone with a frown and slid it open. A text message. Why couldn't people be normal and call? That's what phones were for, right?

**_Tuesday, December 19th_**

**_from:_**_** Aksel  
><strong>Hey! You're still coming back for Christmas, right?_

I blinked as I ran my eyes over the text message. At least it was in proper English form. I contemplated sending a text message back, surprising my little brother, but I knew his heart wouldn't be able to take such a shock. _Finally,_ his sister texted him back! _Mom! Dad! Look! She texted me back! And she even purposely misspelled a few words and sacrificed her pride to text me **back**_—perhaps I was exaggerating, but it wouldn't surprise me if he did so.

_**from:**_** _Aksel_**_**  
><strong>Come on, sis, why aren't you responding? Don't tell me you're in class!  
>Those professors really got sticks up their anal orifices!<em>

Faintly, I wondered what other creative insults he would come up with. So, I didn't respond.

Five seconds...

Four seconds...

Three...

Two...

And my phone exploded with worried texts.

**_from: Aksel  
><em>**_Come on! If this is your professor confiscating your phone,  
>then tell them that they can go die! I mean, that is so strict!<br>No wonder that Bern guy can't get a girl!_

_Sis! What are you doing?_

_Søster?_

_This isn't funny... Are you going to respond or not...?_

No insults. Alright, I would reply.

But before I could...

**_from: Aksel  
><em>**_Drew!_

It wasn't my fault, but I dropped my phone, onto the grass, sighing in relief when I realised it wouldn't crack. I glared at the screen and picked it up, fingers tightening on the sides. And then, I relaxed my grip and dialed Aksel's number, silently hoping that he didn't tell Mother or Father.

"_You didn't respond!" _he shouted from the phone, voice filled with annoyance but evident relief as well. "_I was worried! Du bekymrer meg!"_

"I'm sorry... I was a bit preoccupied with recovering from the initial shock of a vibrating in my pants—and no, do not take that the wrong way, you pervert! Listen, I know I worried you, and I'm sorry, but honestly, was there any need to call me that?"

I could hear the pout behind his voice. _"You always have a slight aversion to your family members calling you by your birth name. What's with that?"_

"You shocked me!"

_"Really, are you just so adamant to stick to that bad symbolism of your name?"_

"Maybe I am." Then, hiding my grin, I said, "Don't you dare smirk at me with that tone of voice!"

In the faint background, I could hear Freyr's voice, with that soft accent. "_She's got you good, valp. Here, hand me the phone. I'll talk to her."_

People were staring as they passed me on the street, probably wondering what had me in such high spirits, since I was grinning. I could tell, by the confused, slightly apprehensive looks on their faces. Mayhap it was my reputation as someone unnapproachable, but was it really so bad that everyone was afraid of me? I wonder. Was my outward appearance so frightening that people thought I was going to wack them with a spiked club?

"_Listen, Hjørdis, are you coming back for Christmas or what? Everyone's pumped for the sword competition, and we can't compete with one champion missing. You know that. And Aksel's too young to compete unless—"_

_"_Don't give me that _dritt; _Elena's the same age as Aksel, and she's competing."

"_It's not my dritt. It's our family's dritt. E__lena is a girl. You know there's no prohibitions against girls who want to compete at age thirteen."_

"Our family is wack."

"_Our family is Viking-oriented. Come on. What did you expect? So, are you coming home or what?"_

I sighed. "I don't think I can, honestly."

"_Why not? Those plagsom professors keeping you there?"_

"Kind of. You see, I've got a letter...of recommendation, typed up by Professor David Bern himself, the strict guy with, as Aksel puts it, 'a stick up his anal orifice', so I can't miss out on this chance. It's recommending me to do research with Norris. You know, the professor that you met when you visited me on campus? She's still convinced we're twins."

Obviously, a light bulb was turned on in his brain, because he sounded understanding. Until I realised what he was saying. "_Oh! You mean that woman who has a crush on that Barn guy?"_

"Bern."

"_Right, whatever. But are you saying you can't come home? That sucks."_

"Sorry," I said apologetically. "But you know, if I really can't come back, tell Simon that he could use my dad's old sword, since he doesn't like to compete. I don't think the people at the post office here will appreciate me trying to mail a sword to Sommarøy."

I could hear him sighing into the phone's receiver, shifting to face Aksel. "_Well, she can't come back, valp. Sorry to say this. Do you think we'd be able to convince Uncle Lukas—your pappa—to let you compete? I know Aunt Maeva would probably say no to you doing it, since she would kill me with any injury to you..."_

"_I dunno, Freyr. I mean, if we..." _Then the conversation descended into rapidfire Norwegian, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Hey, _lytt, _Freyr. If you tell our pappa that I said anything about letting Aksel compete, I will skewer you on a cutlass and roast you over a freezing open fire. Got it? And that means _hodet først."_

"_Yes, ma'am. Well, since your answer is clear, we'll call you tomorrow, all right? Aksel here has got to go to bed before he turns out like you—insomniatic and relying on coffee. Ha det!"_

"Yeah, yeah, _god natt,"_ I told him, pressing the end to the call.

Then I glanced down at the letter tucked between my books, resisting a frustrated sigh on Bern's behalf. He had to choose the most inconvenient time to present this opportunity to me, and I wasn't sure whether or not I was itching to take it or just go back to Troms county.

When family and school conflicted, the thing that bothered me most was that I didn't know which one mattered the most, though it should have been obvious.

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><p>When I arrived at my apartment, I was surprised to find a package on my doorstep. I didn't understand what it could possibly be doing on my doorstep, since I had not even ordered anything within the past year. I almost wanted to smirk at the irony of it though—only less than an hour ago, I was talking about mailing my sword to another country.<p>

So, I did the natural thing, and the good samaritan in me decided to pick up the package, go to my neighbour, knock on her door, and politely ask if this was her package.

Instead of a 'Oh, thank you! I was wondering when it would arrive,' I received a raised eyebrow and a 'Sorry, but I didn't order anything under the company of anything named MPT... Maybe you should just send it back with the phone number on the sti—huh? There's not a phone number anywhere. Oh well. Sorry, but it isn't mine.'

I received a similar response from my other neighbour, who so very politely told me to sod off.

In the end, I took the package into my apartment and sighed, placing it next to the laptop on the desk in my living room.

I sat down on the wooden chair and examined the label on the package, flipping the box around to find some sort of shipping number or something. And that was when I found it, the company name. This had to be a joke, I thought to myself when I found it. What kind of name was _Melkor's Plush Toys? _Well, there was no harm in carefully opening it; if I could make use of my skill and replace the contents inside of it later, they probably would not even be able to tell the difference between an opened package and a sealed one.

Slowly, I peeled back the tape and flipped open a fold of the cardboard, pulling aside tissue paper gently and cautiously.

To meet my eye, a plush toy sat in a bundle of stitched cloth and three sparkling gems pinned to his cloak. He was frowning.

I turned around, wondering if this was an April Fools joke in the middle of December. When no one jumped out yelling 'Punk'd you!', I turned back to the box and carefully pulled out a card sticking out from the sandy wrapping.

**_Hello! Since you have officially opened your box, you should know that you can't return it!_**

And at that, I threw the card down, swiped the box off the table, without even bothering to calmly read the rest of the blasted thing.

A period of rest sounded very tempting then. A shower would do just fine.

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><p>At the sound of running water, something extremely peculiar began to happen to the plush toy in the box. Slowly, a shadow began to rise from where the couch was, for that was were the plush toy landed. Instead of a plush toy emerging, however, there was a tall figure, dark-haired and intimidating. One could see three lights emitting holiness from his cloak, and when he saw the light as well, he pulled his cloak away from its original position to examine it.<p>

"_Míri-ninya," _he said quietly.

Then he swept the cloak off of his shoulders and placed it over the couch to further examine it.

What was this place, anyway? It looked quite small, like Mahtan's forge when he was forced to close down half of it because that half was outside in the rain. And he was _forced_ to close down half of it because Nerdanel would have had a fit wiith her father outside in the wet, coming inside later and getting muddy footprints all over the nice clean tiles...

Not that Mahtan ever cared about that, of course.

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><p><em>It was blue, and sunny, and the ocean looked beautiful. It was too bad, though, that some people were forbidden to swim. One of these people was a little girl, with a hat over her head, and an annoyed expression on her face. An extremely annoyed expression on her face.<em>

_Then there was her brother, a very tall young man who resembled her slightly, who had an amused expression (albeit worried) on his face as he spoke to her. "You can't swim out too far, okay? You know Mother said that you couldn't..." _

_"I know, I know, Matthias! But come on! When will I get to have any fun?"_

_A moment of hesitation. Then: "I'm coming with you."_

_A protest. "Matthias!"_

_"It's not safe for you to go out there alone, Drew..."_

_"Fine, fine, fine... Bekymret bror."_

* * *

><p>I was inhaling water.<p>

Somehow, I had probably managed slip down the drain and out to the ocean, but it felt like I was drowning. Just like that time I nearly drowned. When I had gone swimming, my lung capacity obviously wasn't enough to sustain me under any sort of watery surface for more than twenty seconds.

Peculiarly, there was a light above me. The sun?

I brought my hand up to the light and was surprised to find fresh air hitting my fingers, and then it hit me, and I pulled my head above water as well.

I had fallen asleep in the bathtub.

There were times when relaxation went too far, but this was just ridiculous. Coughing up water was never very pleasant, and I had my fair share of that several years ago, but man, _does it really burn like this when water goes back up your trachea?_

I tried to stop gasping, but between the intervals of silence, I heard a faint sound.

A sound of footsteps.

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><p>-O-<p>

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><p><strong>Well, dun, dun, dun! This chapter was a bit longer than I thought it would be!<br>This is actually...me. Yes, I do have sleeping problems, though I wish I didn't...**

**Here are the translations, since there would no doubt be some foreign phrases...  
>Thank you to anonymous reviewer <em>Siiw, <em>for correcting _bekymringsfullt_ to _bekymret_ for me! I really appreciate it!**

Norwegian:_  
>bekymre<em>_t bror - _worrying brother  
><em>søster - <em>sister  
><em>Du bekymrer meg! - <em>You worry me!_  
>valp - <em>puppy  
><em>dritt - <em>shit  
><em>plagsom <em>- troublesome  
><em>lytt - <em>listen  
><em>hodet først - <em>head first  
><em>god natt - <em>good night

Quenya (Because I am epic like that):_  
><em>Míri-ninya -<em>_my jewels


	2. The Elf in My Living Room

**Hello, this is the second chapter to my Plush Toy thing! I rather liked the first chapter, so I've decided that I won't just suddenly cut it off and switch to the next day!**

**By the way, Fëanor can speak English because Melkor just totally knows how to ruin a human's good mood by introducing them to Fëanor's sharp tongue. Though I imagine that he'd probably mistake me for an Elf, since I'm pretty much as tall as one and my ears would usually be covered by my hair.**

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><p>-O-<p>

Quickly, I dressed myself after mopping water from my skin, and I stepped out into the hallway, cursing my slippers for being so loud against the floor. Turning my head to and fro, I spotted no one in the hallway and moved down to the living room, cautiously tip-toeing to the intersection. And then I saw him; he was tall, even taller than me. I blinked several times and tried rubbing my eyes to no avail; there was a (surely) six and a half foot tall man in my living room - and he had _pointy ears?_

"Who are you?" I asked hoarsely, my throat dry. My day just went completely downhill from receiving that stupid letter...

He turned to me, and his dark grey eyes narrowed. "You are not an Elf?"

I stepped back. "I'm a human." This guy...he had the nerve to accuse me of being an Elf when he was taller than me? Probably by a lot of centimeters, judging by the fact that he was almost as tall as three of my 65 centimeter desks propped up on each other.

"Of the race of Man," he clarified to himself. Then, he muttered, "As long as you are not of the Vanyar..."

"_Vanyar?"_ And then it hit me. Holy shit. Oh lord, this could not be possible—I was dreaming, and I'd really dreamt up all this crap. "I'm sorry, but I'm not fictional."

He raised a fine eyebrow at me, and I could tell that he was scrutinising me from where I stood. "Fictional? I am sorry as well, but I am not fictional at all. I am in no way made up or unreal." To prove his point he held up the card that had fallen to the floor after I swiped it off my desk, and he tore it in half, and then quarters, and then eigths. "See? Very palpable."

I blanched when he had ripped the card—then I regained my senses after the second ripping. "No! What have you _done?_ You just killed my only chance of deducing this madness!" I went to the ripped halves of the card and knelt down, eyes wide with horror.

Though I couldn't see him, I could tell that he had rolled his eyes. "You can easily piece it back together. It was only a demonstration."

"Only a demonstration," I echoed, gathering the pieces and completely disregarding the fact that an Elf, may he be real or just a figment of my imagination, was in my house and had just ripped a card into eight pieces instead of killing me. "I think I need to sit down."

"There's a couch, right here," he replied, gesturing sarcastically and rather elegantly to the piece of furniture.

I plopped down on it, sitting as far away from him as possible. "Are you really real? As in, I'm not dreaming?"

"You're not dreaming. Would you like me to pinch you, or use a knife to—"

"No thank you," I said all too quickly. "I'll pinch myself." To no avail. Damn pinching; it didn't work. The idea with the knife was starting to look really attractive to me, but before I knew it, my wrist was in my mouth, and I bit down. When I tasted blood—much like back then—I knew I was not dreaming. I also knew that I was quite screwed and in deep, deep dung, and someone was going to sue me for taking away a character in Tolkien's work.

_But why would I automatically jump to that conclusion?_ I asked myself.

"You're a cosplayer, aren't you?" I exclaimed, jumping up and backing away. "How the hell did you get in my house anyway? And how did you get such realistic ears?"

"What is a cosplayer?" he asked flatly. I could see his fingers twitching, as if reaching for a sword that did not hang from his belt, but was in fact in my storage closet. I stepped back several feet until there was a respectable distance, but the apprehension still remained.

"A guy who dresses up as a character from some sort of fictional piece of work, like animation or novels." I took in a deep breath. "Why are you in my house? Stop avoiding the question." I pulled the lamp, from the table, to me, causing the cord to yank itself out of place. The sound was not pleasant. Rather, I could see my neck making that very same sound, except louder and with a crisper sound, and the gesture would have been a little more graceful.

He lifted his head and looked extremely proud as he told me, and looked down at me from the bridge of his nose, "No one can mimic me so grandly, for I am the renowned and infamous Fëanáro whom many may harbour ill will towards, but grudging admiration as well."

This was really getting out of hand. I needed a foolproof method, and I needed some Valium or Vicodin. Something to relax my nerves. "...Then can I feel your ears?"

"_What?" _It was his turn to look aghast as he raised his hands to cover his ears protectively. Then he shot glaring daggers at me.

"Feel. Your. Ears. So I can deduct whether or not they're fake, and whether or not I should believe you."

"I would much rather you hold a knife to my wrist and test my tangibility as such, instead of feeling my ears, thank you," Fëanáro answered, backing away from me. His hands I could see were calloused, but his fingers were long and elegant. And curling up as he backed away from me. I suddenly perceived the horrible image of him using those fingers to cut off my oxygen, and I started to back away as well, wishing that I had my sword in a much more convenient place to reach instead of my storage room, which was on the other side of the apartment.

I sighed. "Okay. Let's go about this peacefully, with no injuries to the other, okay? I really would like for us to resolve this problem so I have time to study. And I'd like for you not to, um, strangle...me. I'm not sure about you being an Elf, and maybe I don't have to feel your ears, but some proof would be nice."

"I would not show you this if I had the choice, but..." He reluctantly pulled his cloak up for me to see, and three lights assaulted my eyes.

I backed away even further and nearly tripped over my cheap, antique rug. "Ow, ow, ow, my eyes, what are you doing? Flashing me with lights?"

The blinding light ebbed away and left me with three sparkling jewels. Then, he took one from the cloak, and threw it down from where he stood. As I realised that it hadn't broken and certainly caused a dent in the floor, dread almost overwhelmed me as I was reminded of the storyline in The Silmarillion. And I thought to myself, _Holy—no way no way no way no way, oh my god this cannot be good!_

"What are you doing!" I exclaimed. "Put that away before - " Then I faltered in my command. Morgoth wasn't here...oh shit. Oh no. "Wait..." I leapt over to the box and held up the label stuck to it. "No way. Just...why. No way. No way in _hell_." _Melkor's Plush Toys. _"Melkor's. Plush. Toys?" I repeated to myself incredulously.

Fëanáro glared at the box. "What? _Morgoth?_ Give me that box—I will destroy it right now."

"Wait," I said. "Wait." I removed all of the packaging tissue paper and found a small pamphlet. I opened it very slowly and started to read aloud. "_Congratulations, you have just received a plush toy for trial."_ My voice went flat. _"This is Curufinwë Fëanáro, son of Finwë and Míriel Serindë, that you have received." _I skipped down to the last paragraph. "_You cannot return him for six months if he has grown to full size. Sincere apologies if your home is wrecked in the process."_

He took the pamphlet from me. "Okay. Let us read the Important Points. I was apparently a plush toy. I have now grown to full size. I cannot be returned for six months. I am to remain under your jurisdiction—I very much argue to that—and I cannot set fire to anything... Oh come off of it, I only did that to the ships and Indis's handkerchief. Morever, if arguments should arise, I will...be overtaken with a pain? This is slave-driving."

"Okay; one, I do not slave-drive. Two, let's get this straight. You're seriously Fëanáro from The Silmarillion?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Drew Canterbury. Student from the University next door."

He simply rolled his eyes. "That is not a very detailed answer. I gave you my detailed answer, or rather, the pamphlet and I gave you my detailed answer, which was, 'Fëanáro son of Finwë and Míriel Serindë,' and I shall add to it. Creator of the Silmarils, father of seven sons, exiled Crown Prince of the Noldor, and greatest of the Noldor. Now, what have you to say?"

Pride is a really funny thing, when it comes to life-threatening situations. Though I already knew of Fëanáro and his pride, mine didn't nearly as much rival his but still pulled through. "Drew daughter of Lukas and Maeva, swordfighter age 18, part-time waitress at the Golden Rim on Fridays, and worker at the Eberstark Bookstore on Wednesdays and Saturdays."

"Then, Drew, I believe that is a proper answer," he told me, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

* * *

><p>I silently rubbed my temples as I sat in the quiet bookstore, trying to gather my thoughts, though I never tried doing it before. I hadn't had coffee that morning because I woke up late after attempting to stay awake in case Fëanáro tried something such as burning down my apartment. I hadn't called Freyr that morning either, since I knew he would be at work, and Aksel would have been asleep, since he was in Norway already and still adjusting to the time zone. But it was really better for sanity, sitting alone in a quiet place and focusing on something other than certain looming problems...<p>

Until someone interrupted me.

"Um, hello, do you mind helping me find a book?"

I glanced up at the girl, and her face was young and innocent, a cherub face surrounded by a crown of dark brown hair and a strip of it dyed red. Slowly, I nodded and got up, wincing at how sore I felt. Sitting alone in a quiet place may have been good for the sanity (not really mine), but sitting in the same position for a long time was bad for the joints.

"What book? And how many do you need?" I asked her.

She seemed startled out of her thoughts as I spoke, most likely stunned by my height. Most people were, anyway.

"Oh! Right, well, I'm searching for a book on violins - my sister's friend needs only one, and my sister is outside. She can't come in," she added, answering my unspoken question.

I turned my head to the window door and saw a similar girl, taller than her, but with dark blue eyes instead of light brown. She was smoking outside of the bookstore. Sighing, I directed the little girl to the music section and picked a book (the best, in my opinion) out for her, carrying it to the cashier. Edina exchanged glances with me as she scanned the barcode on the book. I waited as the little girl paid and walked her outside to the door, where her sister shot me a glare and snuffed her cigarette, tossing it away onto the pavement. Bending down, I searched those soft brown eyes.

"Tell your sister's friend," I said, "that books won't help her much. If she wants to learn how to play, she's got to have a tutor to teach her some of these things." Then I patted her on the shoulder and nudged the door open for her. She nodded serenely and skipped outside, holding the book to her like a precious item.

I went back to Edina—and she said to me, "Soft spot for kids, eh? Most of them would probably be frightened by your height."

"And yours," I retorted good naturedly.

She grinned. "I'm not as tall as you, you monster. How tall are you again?"

"Last time I checked, which was last year, I was 177 centimeters tall. What about you?"

She cursed. "_Verdammt, _I'm 174. I guess you can see the difference, eh? 'The Europeans are always so damn tall,'" she said, mimicking the customer from last week who had asked her out on an outing, on which they talked and she disclosed that she was German and her height was as such, and he replied that he was Mexican, felt quite short, and he only used feet as a unit of measurement. She had laughed and told him about me, tall and just really towering over most people, and he paled, saying, 'The Europeans are always so damn tall.'

Though I had to disagree; the Finnish _trillinger _were just of average height, but that was probably because they were only fifteen and not fully grown yet. When I was eleven, I already wished I would stop growing, but I still grew. My legs only seemed to be getting longer until finally they halted. Yet so many people teased me, and I was nearly as tall as Freyr when finally, Odin or Frigga or _someone_ stopped the process.

"It's really too bad," I told her. "To think that I'd be the one labeled as a freak because I'm so tall - and I thought I actually found someone who could be standing as my equal!"

She snorted. "I am your equal. I level out your coldness with my bubbliness, and your height by mine, because I am the awesome friend."

"Coldness?" I protested.

"You have to know how boss-like you look! It's scary to most children, you know, and a lot of guys."

"Thanks for boosting my confidence."

"Excuse me," interrupted a voice. It was slightly high-pitched and raspy. "Are you that tall girl who helped my sister?"

Edina shifted her position to look around me, and her eyes narrowed. I turned around and saw the girl who was smoking outside earlier. I nodded wordlessly.

She smiled sardonically and handed me a card, messily scrawled in pencil. "Go to this address tomorrow at four-thirty sharp. The theatre's on the University campus, and since you look like a student there, I'm assuming you'll know how to get in the gates." She glanced over my head, as if silently cursing my height for removing some of her authority, and repeated, "Remember, four-thirty sharp. She doesn't like to wait."

"Okay," I replied. "But why does your little sister want to see me?"

"That little runt? Not her. The one that wanted the book, nimrod. My friend."

_Right,_ I thought to myself as she strutted out of the bookstore.

Edina made a contemptuous sound in the back of her throat. "Little snot - who does she think she is? Has she got something screwed on wrong in her brain, trying to take on two tall as hell Europeans? Doesn't even look like a University student." I smiled at Edina, and she covered her eyes dramatically, cringing away from the register. "Ah! The giant is smiling! The world is ending!"

"No, seriously, Edina," I said. "I really wish you went to this University. Do you think you could apply with grants and scholarships?"

"And become a freshie? Hell no."

"Come on, Edina..."

"Drew, I think I'll just stay here and work at my family bookstore. College never really hit the right chord with me, and I'm not sure I'm ready to begin. Now, I don't know about leaving you to the hungry jaws of your tight-ass colleagues, because I feel bad about that, but you could always drop out of college and work full-time at this bookstore, though I know you wouldn't, because therefore all of your grants and scholarships would be useless and you would've totally spat in the face of financial aid and all of the other students who couldn't get in."

"You make it sound like a miracle."

"Not many people can get into college or universities with grants and scholarships alone, you know."

"But I'm _not_. I work so I can pay off debt."

"And you honestly think that I want to go through that?" She sighed and ran a hand through her dirty blonde hair. "Come on, Drew. That's just not the life for me."

"I guess," I sighed, and went back to the table to sit down.

Then, Edina tossed something at me, and it very nearly clonked me on the head, hitting my hand that had gone up to protect my face, and landing in my other hand which I had held out to catch it with. I turned to her questioningly.

"What is this?"

"Open it," she replied, and carelessly pressed open the register.

I did as she said, and I heard the clinking of metal hitting metal. Car keys. My mouth parted in surprise. "You didn't buy me a car...did you? Oh god, you know I can't take this."

"No, you idiot, I know you don't have one, so I decided to lend you mine." She sighed and shook her head teasingly. "Seriously, Drew! How else are you going to get to your University's theatre? Walk there from your freaking apartment which I know is off campus and pretty far away? Even if you get on a transit bus and get outside the University gates, like how the hell are you going to walk such a damn long distance before your legs give out?"

I frowned. "I always walk to school. Unless I'm sick. Then I don't walk, I talk the transit bus and hope someone will take up a hitchhiker."

"You have the inner derelict," she told me, all very serious. "I don't think I know you anymore. You _walk_ to school? Nobody's done that since high school, and I know you're in your sophmore year here! You got to be kidding me!"

"Alright, alright, so I'm a bit weird on that! It's good exercise, since I barely get any per day."

"You walk to class."

"That doesn't count. Everyone walks to class. Therefore, it should be excused as conformity."

"You are not conformed. You, of all people, should not be conformed."

* * *

><p>"So...you work on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays," Fëanáro confirmed, sitting at my desk and reading one of my Chemistry books. He didn't even look at me, immersed in his book but coherent enough to speak nonchalantly to me. His brow was drawn up in slight interest as he flipped another page.<p>

I nodded towards him as I carefully pulled our dinner—heat-friendly—from the microwave. Then I turned to him with a grimace, and he grimaced as well, seeing the burnt edge of the lasagna. But he was more focused on what the hell it was.

"May I ask what that is, in the odd pan?" he deadpanned, taking it from me without qualm.

"Careful! It's...hot..." I trailed off as he, without any 'Ow!' or 'Damn that's burning!', placed the plastic pan on the table. "Okay. You must be Super Elf or something. How did you do that without cursing once? That's weird."

"No." He gave me a questioning look, as if saying, '_Super Elf? What?'_ "I worked in the forge. I've had to deal with hotter things than this." He smirked. "I touched actual blue fire. And contained it into my renowned lamps. Do not underestimate me." And I could tell, by the look on his face, that he wished to add, '_A mere person may not be able to handle this, but I am not a mere person.'_

I sighed. "Okay. Do you want to eat this now or eat it later?"

"I prefer not to ingest it. It looks...bloody."

"Are you criticizing my taste in food?" When he didn't respond, I felt annoyed. "That's it. Tomorrow, I'm taking you to McDonalds and ordering you a Big Mac with extra salty fries. Let's see you hold your resolve that lasagna is horrible. I don't believe it." Then I took two styrofoam plates from the cabinet and handed one to him. "Here. At least try _some_ of it. Lots of Americans love Italian food. Even I love Italian food. And I'm not even American. So I don't think that Noldorin Elves hate lasagna."

Fëanáro grudgingly took the plate from me and took the big fork, scooping up one serving of it. I could tell he was intending to force it down. Was it _really_ that bad? I mean, he killed people, staining sand with blood, but he couldn't eat something that looked bloody. How the hell did that work?

Oh shit.

He killed people.

"Fëanáro," I said, holding a hand out. "If you don't want to eat it, you don't have to..." _Mostly because I fear for my life and if you kill me, no one's going to buy food tomorrow. _Then I remembered the 'if arguments should arise' sentence, and I lowered my hand.

He simply wrinkled his nose, took a silver fork from one of the kitchen drawers, and held up a strand of lasagna to his eye. His frown was slightly noticeable, though I could tell he was trying to hide it from me. "What is this made of?"

"Tomato, cheese, pasta... Okay, truth be told, I don't know anything else besides those three."

"You're eating something, and you don't even know what it's made of?"

He had a good point... "Hey, _I'm_ not eating it right now. You are."

Then, he lowered the fork into his mouth, and his eyes widened a fraction. I waited. He seemed to be trying to swallow it down when he rushed to the trash can and knelt over onto the floor, completely spitting out the lasagna and ignoring my look of incredulity.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" I asked.

"Tomorrow, I'm cooking," he declared, rising from his knees and turning to me. "We're going for ingredients, and I'm cooking. You cannot honestly expect to survive on such things that taste nearly like burnt ash, and I've had to taste burnt ash to make ink."

"That's because you ate the burnt part," I protested. "You can't honestly expect something blackened from the whole to taste like heavenly waybread. You need to give Italian food a chance."

His eyes narrowed. Oh god, the thoughts about him killing me were coming back... "I'll cook tomorrow, and if my cooking is not good enough for your tastes, then you may force me to indulge in your odd eating habits."

"How are you so sure that you'll win?" Besides the fact that I knew he would win since I would practically eat anything but hot dogs and hákarl—oh and surströmming.

He simply turned away and dumped the remainder of his lasagna into the same trash can. "I am not only the greatest of the Noldor because of my craft and ingenuity, Drew Canterbury. You will soon find out. Just wait tomorrow."

I guess I would have to borrow Edina's car a bit longer then...

* * *

><p>-O-<p>

* * *

><p><strong>So, wow! Nearly a pretty long chapter! Longer than the first one, anyway.<strong>

**Translations:**

_German:  
>Verdammt - <em>damn  
><em>Eberstark - <em>strong as a boar

Oh, you know, hákarl and surströmming is my worst nightmare. If you forced it down my throat, I guarantee I would gag. Trust me. I was dared to eat either of them, and I chose the former - and had to drink some wine to keep it down and dull my tastebuds. Scarred for life.

Also, I wasn't sure on how to characterise Fëanor. But there's a reason why he hasn't murdered me yet.

**Anyway, tell me how you thought of it...**

**...or I'll send you surströmming.**


	3. The Car That I Borrowed

**A third chapter! Hurra!**

**With the Russian accent, I had not a single idea of how to make it look right without having it look wrong, because of the w's to v's, and all that, such as 'one' to 'von.' Everything should be fine, though, if you read Natalya's sentences in a Russian accent.**

* * *

><p>-O-<p>

* * *

><p>By the looks of it, I was driving a 2004 Pontiac Sunfire, red and slightly beaten down, with tinted windows and weathered seat cushions, torn padding in the back, and a stain of bleach. By another look at it, I could tell it was going to be the laughingstock of the entire parking lot filled with Volvos, Volkswagens, and BMWs. But I didn't really care - at least I had a break from walking to school. There was a problem, however.<p>

Fëanáro.

I had a feeling it was always going to be him. It was Thursday, and I hadn't gotten as much sleep as I would have working overnight at the Golden Rim. He was in the car with me, unfortunately, and once we stepped out from it, I knew that I would have just guaranteed myself that I would earn the stares of just about every single person at the school who arrived at 8:00 AM.

"Please don't draw attention to yourself," I muttered to him.

He grinned to himself. "How would I draw attention to myself? I'm not wearing the Silmarils on my brow." Then he turned away with a_ tsk_. "Damn that son of Idril."

"Look at your height," I told him, feeling despair creep up my spine. "You're really, _really_ tall."

"You're not too short yourself," he reminded me. "Not many people stare at you."

"They avoid my gaze," I mumbled, parking into a spot. Already, people were glancing at the car with contempt. _I should have walked,_ I thought to myself. "Okay. This is how it's going to work. You're going to go to the front office, and you're going to stay there 'til...hmm...half past twelve, okay?"

"Why should I?" Honestly - I knew he would pull this as soon as I told him to do something.

"Please, Fëanáro. It's just for this once. We're still on rocky terms, and we don't even know each other that well, and people will be suspicious. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want everyone to be alerted to you as a Silmarillion character, and I can't just take you to class with me." Hoping he would see common sense, I stopped at that and kept my silence.

For a long time, he did not speak either, until finally he glanced at me and sighed, whether from exasperation or resignation I do not know. "Fine."

Glad that we concurred, I unlocked the door and waited for him to exit the compartment.

As soon as Fëanáro stepped out, several students wolf-whistled. At his height. He blinked and turned to me, slightly confused, and I slumped back in the car, sighing. I warned him, and he didn't listen. But how was one to mask six feet of height? And damn, I forgot to drink coffee again. Several girls approached him, a moment of bravery apparently, and they said shyly, 'Hi.' He bid them good morning, and that's when I stepped outside the car.

"Come on, we must go," I interrupted him, as he started to bow sarcastically, the sarcasm going unnoticed by the girls before us.

Fëanáro frowned. "Must we?"

"If I am late for class, you will be eating the leftover lasagna later," I promised, dragging him away easily.

* * *

><p>After Professor Bern told us to pull out our notes from last week, I blanked out. I knew he was simply going to go over what was said and say it over once more, because this was he always did before major quizzes. My mind wandered to the corners of the labyrinth that was my kingdom of thoughts, and didn't return 'til the end of the period. To my slight surprise, I was thinking about the card that was still in my jacket, crumpled and folded so many times that the words were broken up because of the faded letters. However much I would like to forget about it, I couldn't, and I was annoyed at myself for even considering to go.<p>

And what the hell was that this morning, with Fëanáro and the girls? Was he _trying_ to garner me more trouble than he was worth?

I absentmindedly glanced at my watch—a quarter past twelve. In ten minutes, the class would be over. Was it really so quick?

Damn it, I really needed to stop wandering back to the card...

_Go to 153 Carisol Grey Dr.  
>Goldestone Theatre<br>4:30 sharp  
>Don't be late.<em>

"Now, class, remember to study for your quiz next Wednesday! It's going to incorporate everything we've learned this week." Then, Professor Bern stopped mid-talk and smiled at all of us. "Remember—if you lose courage, make sure that you go forth, and regain that courage. Alright?"

He just loved to twist with our minds, didn't he? Psychology class. A pain, to me.

I simply gathered my books and my notes again, running through his last words. Courage.

Before I managed to leave, he placed a hand on my shoulder. "Have you considered it, Drew?"

I turned around. "Considered? Considered what?"

"The recommendation letter," he replied. "I know that you would usually visit your family during this time, but the best time to do the research is during the winter break. I don't want to make you choose between family and future, but this is a decision you must make on your own."

"That last sentence was directed towards me, wasn't it?"

* * *

><p>Fëanáro didn't understand why we were driving off campus now. He craned his neck to turn his head back to the gates as the distance between it and the car increased. Then he turned back to me and sighed, rolling his sleeves back to his elbows.<p>

"Why are we leaving your school? Are your classes over already?" he asked, without even meeting my eyes and examining the lever that allowed his seat to move back.

I glanced at his hunched form and smiled. "I am taking you to McDonalds."

"McDonalds... That place that you told me you would take me to yesterday?"

"Yes. You are eating a Big Mac. If you don't like lasagna, then let's see how well you handle processed beef."

He leaned back into his seat and propped his feet atop the glove compartment, looking over at me from the corner of his eyes. "If you insist, but once you have tasted my masterpieces, you will not turn to your...curious cuisines ever again. I promise you. It takes a real male to work, raise seven children, _and cook_, and still retain sanity. Though I am not sure if I have retained most of my sanity." He smirked to himself. "At home, it was always I who cooked for my sons. Nerdanel couldn't cook worth a copper chip."

"And you think I'll be just like your sons."

"You'll be like all of the children I've fed, and some of them weren't just my sons." He sat up, and immediately, the seat rebounded with him, but he didn't seem bothered by it. "I'll have you know that I fed my half-siblings as well. Indis? She wasn't renowned for her cooking more than her beauty."

"You admit that she's beautiful?" I echoed, unsure if he suddenly underwent a change in the office. Who was this _goddess_ that completely altered Curufinwë Fëanáro?

"Yes, but she's shit at cooking," he replied candidly. (I take that back, about what I said earlier.) "She wanted to cook for me, one time, while she was still pregnant, you see. She was feeling extremely motherly and was willing to 'look past' our 'differences' and give me the meal that every mother should have cooked for their child." He snorted, and the corners of his mouth quirked with amusement. "And then, she proceeded to set the vinegar on fire. Tell me, how do you set vinegar on fire?"

"I don't know."

"Precisely. Our lunch was ruined, and the picnic was going to be canceled until I devised an excellent diversion and prepared a storm of vegetables, meat, and fruit. Oh, and I created a recipe for buttered bread and raw deer meat, topped by a square of fermented cheese." He looked quite smug from where I spotted him, in the mirror as I glanced to it in order to merge right.

"Fermented cheese? Raw _deer_ meat? You know that hunting deer is actually really wrong?" I said weakly, trying to keep my eyes on the road, trying to ignore that prospect of a bloody deer and rotting cheese.

Really, I was living with a maniac now. In relief, I saw McDonalds and made a right turn into the parking lot, deciding to go through the drive-thru. Fëanáro looked around in amazement, ready to open the door, but I placed a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. I myself really just did not like eating here, but this was to prove a point. Fëanáro was going to _eat_ a Big Mac, stomach it down, and then admit to me that lasagna, burnt or not, was better.

I ordered a Big Mac for Fëanáro and pulled the car through the drive-thru, tapping my fingers against the wheel. He, on the other hand, was tapping the window experimentally.

"Say, what is this peculiar machine?"

"A car," I responded, handing the cashier money, and taking back the change. "It's a branch of transportation. Some people use transit buses, some people use trains, some people use airplanes, some people use helicopters, _we're_ using a car, though I usually walk. This car is powered by fossil fuels, also known as gas, and causes pollution. Lots of people use cars, though, since it's more convenient and personal to each person. There are different kinds of cars. This car is not my car, though."

"By the speed of this, compared to the time," he told me, only hanging onto the sentence in which I said I walked, "I'd say that the distance is extremely long. You would walk such a long distance to every place? You would have to wake up extremely early, and then you would be tired by the end of the walk."

"I would drink coffee. It's my drug, my caffeine, my habit." I abruptly tossed the McDonalds paper bag to him. "There. That is your lunch. Eat."

He took out the cardboard box and opened it. And then, his eyes widened. "What the hell?" he said. "I can't eat this. This... It looks like it has vomit spread across the top and bottom. And trust me, I have seen so many of my sons vomit that it's hard not to compare everything to it."

"Is it worse than lasagna?" I answered stiffly.

Fëanáro held up his hands in exasperation. "Is this because of yesterday?"

"Fëanáro," I said in my no-nonsense voice. He froze, but I ignored that. "Is it worse than lasagna?"

"Yes," he said quietly, pushing the food away from him.

Then, the problem of leftover food came to mind. I still had lasagna, Fëanáro had practically nothing to eat at all since he arrived in that box, and we both didn't like McDonalds. The only solution was Edina, since she would usually, without time to prepare food herself, go to fast food places out of convenience. I wasn't sure if she actually liked eating this though. Maybe, if I was lucky, we would reach a mutual agreement on what to eat, since he could be classified as a picky eater.

Maybe, if I wasn't deceiving myself, it could work.

* * *

><p>The theatre was empty, deserted, and I felt a chill pass over me. Was this even the right room? I took the card from my grey jacket and unfolded it once more. And then I realised that the room number was not on the card. It almost reminded me of a crime scene show, in which I would have been a detective, if I truly had such intellect to solve mysteries and stomach murders like the weak, faint human being I was.<p>

The seats were of red cushion and rimmed with golden armrests, and there was a multitude of rows of such seats—forty-three, to be exact. The entire room was of a high ceiling, with the center stage being more than several feet tall, which would have made it extremely bad to jump off of, but I bet that I was at least a few inches taller than the floor of the stage. The walls were dark green, encompassing a great length of stone with a mossy sheen. This entire foundation was rumoured to have been built on stone, though not many people were willing to tear up the theatre to look for rock when there were pebbles right outside.

"So you are the tall one!" exclaimed a distinct Russian accent.

I turned around to meet the sight of a short—though most people were short to me—slender girl, with dark green eyes and lanky dark brown hair. And hanging from her mouth was a small cigarette, with smoke just sailing out of the end. I curled my fingers tightly in my left hand and then reminded myself that I was supposed to use my right.

"Hallo," she continued, the cigarette moving with her mouth. "I'm Natalya Nekrestyanov. But you only need to remember my first name." She winked. "Now, are you here for the violin part, or are you here because Sabrina threatened you?"

"Is smoking allowed indoors?" I asked weakly, backing away. Sabrina must have been that girl who gave me the card.

Natalya disregared my question and went up to me, taking the card from my hand as I stepped back from the puffs of smoke that occasionally rose from the lit end. Then she looked up at me. "It could work," she said to herself. "You're pretty tall—you'll draw attention away from the shit players I have now..."

"I'm sorry, but I don't exactly understand why I'm here," I told her. "I was told to come, and I thought it quite rude not to attend after I said I would."

"Manners," she noted absentmindedly, looking me up and down. "Alright, you're in." Then she pivoted on her heel and started to walk away from me, but I halted her.

"Wait—what am I in on? I still do not understand."

She sighed. "It's obvious, my new second principle!" _Oh no._ "Oh yes! You're in our little orchestra production now!"

Her words echoed in my ears before I fully comprehended; by then, she was nearly out the door. "Can I be better informed on this? I don't think I can fully participate unless I understand the full concept. Second principle? I am not even in possession of a violin!"

Natalya blinked as she turned back to me once more. "_What?_ Then what was that at the bookstore with Sabrina's little sister? Do you mean to say you cannot play, yet you are lecturing me on getting a violin tutor?" She went over and gestured for me to sit down, and then she stood in front of me with her hands on her hips, leaning over so we were face-to-face and noses almost touching. "Listen girl. If you are one, with that monstrous height of yours."

The smoke from her cigarette was starting to tear up my eyes, and I felt closed in, almost claustrophobic, like that time...

_"Tante! Smoking isn't good for you!" the little girl exclaimed, her light grey eyes wide as she watched the taller woman inhale a large amount of silvery, wispy air. "Det dreper!"_

_But the older woman simply leaned close to her, blew the smoke into her face, to which the little girl shrunk back, coughing, and the woman smiled wickedly. "Oh, lille barn, when had you any jurisdiction over my handlinger?" She jumped onto the bed and threw her left arm up to the pillow, using her right hand to daintily remove the cigarette from mouth and place it gingerly on the bed. "God natt! When you decide to scream 'Hjelp!', feel free to do so."_

_"Tan...te..." The little girl could not stop coughing, and she started to cry, shutting her eyes and leaning back against the corner of the room in which she was locked in. "Let me...out..."_

I uncomfortably removed the cigarette from Natalya's mouth and threw it down upon the floor, mashing it with my boot. "Please... I do not feel comfortable with people smoking in close proximity. It is not very healthy for the lungs..."

She rolled her eyes. "You didn't even listen to half of what I said. I need more violin players for the orchestra, and you may be my only chance to get this show on the damn road. Now. Can you play the violin or not?"

"Yes," I said quietly.

She smiled. "Then good. You are to come to practice once a month, and I'll give you the sheet music next week via Sabrina's little sister. The actual performance is on the seventeenth of May—mark that on your calendar..." She trailed off when she saw that my breathing had ceased, and I had gone pale.

My blood froze in my veins, my arteries, and my fingers, curled from the start, went slack.I looked up at her blankly, and she moved back.

"What ever is wrong, tall one?"

"I can't."

"On the seventeenth of May? My, you're one of those top-notch, schedule-busy violinists, aren't you?" Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

I shook my head. "I cannot do anything during the month of May. I am very sorry."

Natalya sighed. "Well, if I move the concert to February, do you think you could do it?"

It was hard to tell someone no, and sometimes I never really succeeded either. Such as now. "I... Can I get back to you on that?" I glanced down at my watch and nearly cursed - Fëanáro was probably slamming his head against the windows in frustration at my keeping him waiting. "I've got to do something."

She magically pulled out a pen and wrote on the card, scribbling her number onto the back. "Alright, tall one. If you have the time to call, do it. I need one more violinist by January, and I hope you're good." Her eyes twinkled. "Don't let me down easy, if that's what you're planning to do."

I nodded, got up, and strode out of the theatre room.

* * *

><p>"What took you so long?" demanded Fëanáro, an annoyed look on his face as he stood outside the car, awaiting my arrival. Or, rather - as it would have been more accurate - awaiting the car keys.<p>

I sighed. "I'm sorry. Very sorry. I was held up by the person who wanted to meet me."

He simply opened the door and plopped gracefully back into the seat, and I did the same, placing the car keys into ignition and backing out of the parking lot. The trip was silent, and we passed many surroundings as I drove past the University gates, and I kept one hand on the wheel as I leaned against the window, supporting my frame with my other arm. Fëanáro on the other hand was still playing with the lever that lowered his seat.

Watching him lower and then prop himself back up was by far _not_ entertaining, by any sort of twisted way of thought. He could be such a child, though I imagine he didn't really have much of a childhood without a mother, and a father who could only give so much comfort until the heart finally scabbed, to form the scar and heal the wound.

"Fëanáro," I said softly, slightly overcome with pity. But I knew he wouldn't want it - not from me. "We're going shopping."

He turned to look at me, annoyed, as if I had treated him like a child. "I know that."

The atmosphere was tense, and I could feel his gaze boring into my head as I tried to focus on the grey path before us. Buildings, incomprehensible in my wandering mind, flashed by without a sound, with only the wheels turning making any sort of noise that could distract me.

"So, what is your last memory?" I asked him, attempting to make conversation.

"Grey," he replied simply.

"The Halls of Mandos?"

"You know, the race of Man should not know so much of Elvish history and customs," Fëanáro reminded me, and his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. "You say that I am a character from the Silmarillion. Did you interpret such information from that book as well? Or are there more books on our history?"

"More books," I confirmed for him. "But how long have you been in the Halls of Mandos?"

He smiled to himself, but I saw the pain in his eyes. And the reminiscing of boredom. "Quite a long time. I was freed after Arda Remade, but my Silmarils..."

"Trapped to their fate."

"Do you think I was wrong to make them?"

I blinked at the sudden question. "Why would you ask me such a thing?"

"So many people hated my creation. They hated the Silmarils deeply, though it was so holy - though it contained the Light of the Two Trees. I do not understand why they would despise such hallowed objects. They came to despise me as well, but when did they not find me eccentric; when did they not find me odd? Was I never the only exception, the only damn orphan in Tirion whose Ammë died and Atar remarried? It makes me wonder, sometimes, if they did not hate me before."

Faced with his admission, I wanted to laugh, but judging by the speed of the car and the fact that he was strong enough to throw open my door and throw me out of it, I decided against it. "Don't worry, Fëanáro; I'm sure Fingolfin felt like shit when he was constantly compared to you."

"Fingolfin...?"

"Your half-brother."

"Oh. _That_ half-brother." It was miraculous how he could tell which I spoke of. "Constantly compared to?"

"You have to know how...great you were," I said, frank and honest. "Though many people eventually kind of grew to..." I trailed off, not sure how to put this, "...not like you, you were still kind of the best of Eru's creations. You were made by him to create wonderful things, and you did." Catching his eye, I sighed. "And I'm sure your son eventually forgave you for burning him alive." But I had to know... "Was it on purpose?"

"Was what on purpose?" he asked in monotone.

"Burning him alive." There was a moment of hesitation in which I contemplated if he was even going to respond. Surely, I was pressing my luck by stating his action so calmly, so serenely, as if this was normal conversation. But he surprised me.

"Yes."

We were at the grocery store before I could even respond. He got out of the car and waited for me outside as I took my wallet and the keys to the car. Then I stepped outside as well and walked over to him, my eyes narrowed. "Why do you do that?"

He glanced at me. "Do that, as in doing what, exactly?"

"You push people away. You give them unfavourable answers and frighten off people because you don't want them to get close to you - you don't want them to understand you."

"What would you, mortal and human, understand about me, one who has lived more than a thousand years in grey hell? I push people away. Yes, in fact I do. But how would you know that, if you do not push people away yourself? You cannot criticize me when you do the exact same thing."

Speechless, I watched as he walked inside of the grocery store without a glance back. He hadn't even known me for five years, and already...

All I could do was follow him inside with the cart.

* * *

><p>Not even six minutes into the grocery store, all pretense of awkwardness was gone, and he was ready to ask as many questions as he could possibly muster about every single thing. As I was pushing the cart lazily down the aisle, he said;<p>

"What is this?"

I turned around to look at him, holding up a two liter bottle of Coca-cola. "Oh. Well, that's Coke. It's a drink that a lot of people like to ingest." Though I preferred Pepsi.

"Ingest?" he said incredulously, placing the item back on the rack. "With that coloring? I am sure not anyone would ingest any thing that resembles orc blood."

"Orc blood is black?"

He looked at me as if pityingly, for I was not so well-informed on this. "Of course it is." He then proceeded to launch himself into a five paragraph long summary of orcs and their characteristics, while I pretended to listen, nodding along at not entirely the right times, but hopefully convincing enough.

"So what is it you wish to buy?" I interrupted, just as he prepared to explain the orc's anatomy, and their breeding habits. Apparently, one could learn a lot of things from the fëa in the Halls, and a major in the _Study of Orcs_ Fëanáro obviously was. "I know that you want to cook since apparently lasagna is the next unwholesome thing besides a Big Mac, but you've got to be kidding me if you don't have a rough sketch of the ingredient list. Don't tell me that you're planning to wing it and just go with the flow."

"'Wing it and go with the flow?'" he repeated.

"It's an expression."

"With words."

"Yes. Anyways, I'm sure you'll need eggs, if you're planning on doing anything involving baking. And wheat."

"And garlic," he mused, tapping his finger against his chin as we strolled down the aisle. "How do you feel about - " Catching the look on my face, he cut himself off. "Never mind. You'll find out later."

My curious was piqued. "No...tell me."

He gestured for me to come closer, much like whispering a secret to another.

Unable to stop myself, to control myself, I leaned over, and he said, very softly, but amused and teasing nonetheless, "You'll find out later."

* * *

><p><strong>Pretty long chapter again! I'm kind of proud of myself.<strong>

N_orwegian:  
><em>_handlinger - _actions  
><em>lille barn - <em>little child  
><em>tante - <em>aunt  
><em>god natt - <em>good night  
><em>hjelp - <em>help

Just so you guys know now, _syttende mai_ is the seventeenth of May. Norwegian Constitution Day.

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	4. Greatest of the Noldor Equates to 'Chef'

**Hallo! This is my fourth chapter, and I'm pretty surprised that my chapters are really long... Please forgive me if your eyes sting or water. Mine kind of do.**

* * *

><p>-O-<p>

* * *

><p>After exiting the store, Fëanáro complained about the eggs being small. And we bought the carton that said 'LARGE.' I placed the two paper bags in the backseat and shook my head, trying to picture how big eggs should have been to him.<p>

"What happened in the theatre?" he asked me, as we were on the road to Edina's house.

After all, I did have to return the car, but as the sentence presented itself into the atmosphere, without meaning to, I nearly jerked the wheel off and swerved dangerously to the left, eyes widening. Quickly, I righted the car and spluttered, "In the theatre?" I tried to regain my composure, my hand shaking slightly and betraying my mantle of calm. "Nothing, actually. This girl just wanted me to participate in an orchestra as a violinist, because she needed one in order to have the orchestra perform in..." I let out a deep breath. "...May. On May seventeenth."

He raised his hands and laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back against the seat casually. Then he glanced out the window, noting the blue sky above a canopy of clouds. "Are you planning to join it?"

I sighed. I didn't really want to think about it, but now that it was forced to the forefront of my mind... "I don't know. I mean, I don't really want to attend—I can't, truth be told—but I'm not good at saying no to people that much."

Fëanáro shook his head, as if in disapproval. "All you have to do is say one word. _No_. And if you want to be polite about it, you could just say,_ I'm sorry, but no_."

"I just think of 'no' as a generally impolite word."

"So, if I ask you something with a negative connotation, using the word _not_ in terms of such, would you say no?"

I lifted one hand from the steering wheel and held it up as a gesture of stopping. "It just really depends on—" Then I was interrupted as my phone starting ringing. In my pocket. "_Faen..." _I turned to Fëanáro, and he pointedly looked away.

"There is no way in Mandos that I will get the thing out for you."

"Fëanáro... If I don't answer it..."

"If you answer it, the car will most likely have a lovely first outing with the nearest tree out there." He gestured to the forest at large, outside the window, for emphasis.

"But it's not polite," I protested.

"Get it yourself," he replied. "As long as you don't kill us both." Now, it would have been easier, had not I been wearing pants with pockets, small as can be and hard to fit phones in.

"You'd probably walk away unscathed," I muttered under my breath. He pretended not to hear. "Okay. When I call whoever called me back, I will be sure to mention first how _you_ refused to get the phone out for me."

"And they would probably wonder—would he not have to stick his hand in her pocket?"

Choking on my retort, I blushed slightly and turned away. "On second thought, never mind." Luckily, a red light came to halt us, and I finally pulled out the phone which had long since stopped ringing, silenced by lack of response, like a subdued child. Or even a beached whale. Shooting Fëanáro a dirty look and only receiving a smirk in response, I called back, checking the caller ID and cursing to myself mentally. It was Freyr.

"_Hallo? What took you so long to respond?"_

Glancing at Fëanáro and holding a finger to my lips, I replied, "I'm driving."

"_You're what?" _Freyr's voice was incredulous.

"You sound surprised." The red light turned green, and I hurriedly stepped on the pedal. Driving was harder than it looked. "Anyways, what'd you call for?"

_"You didn't call for an entire day, yesterday. Aksel was worried, but he's asleep now."_

"And you're awake."

_"Of course. I'm twenty-five. I don't give a damn," _he said. I could tell he was grinning. "_So who was bright enough to lend you a car to drive? Unless you're saying that you've finally bought one, but it's really decrepit and run-down and looks just like bestefar's old wagon."_

I rolled my eyes. "Edina lent me the car so I could go to the theatre."

_"You're into acting? I didn't think you'd take our scenes seriously."_

"No. This girl told me to go there—and then this other girl told me she wanted me in her orchestra." Fëanáro glanced at me, as if to say, '_You said no._' I stuck my tongue out at him, and he chuckled, shaking his head and turning away. "And get this," I continued, sarcasm overtaking me. "You know when she asked me to perform?"

"_Oh, great. When? Christmas break, when you're meeting that Norris lady? Aksel's birthday? Your pappa's birthday?"_

"None of them," I said. "Are you purposely avoiding the answer?" I maintained a calm voice throughout, trying hard to keep my countenance under control. If I didn't think about it... If I thought about something else, it would all be fine. I wouldn't... I wasn't going to... _I sound like I'm an emotionally troubled person, _I thought to myself.

_"Shit—she didn't." _The tone he took was disbelieving—and I could detect the underlying pity. It made me grit my teeth.

"_Hun gjorde det._ It was a moment of revelation for me."

In a quiet voice, Freyr asked me, "_How did you take it?"_

"Well, I was a bit distracted at the fact that she was smoking... I could have sworn that the sign outside of the theatre room said _røykfritt._"

"_Right - well, since you're driving, I suppose I shouldn't distract you..." _He couldn't possibly have had any idea how much Fëanáro distracted me while I was driving. "_Just be sure to call regularly, alright? Don't go telling me you'll ring in tomorrow and then completely disregard it the next day."_

"_Beklager,_" I tried to say honestly, putting as much sincerity into my voice as possible. "Goodbye."

Then, I hung up the phone, leaned back against the seat, and sighed.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Edina," I greeted, a smile on my face as she shook her head, standing in the lighted doorway and casting a shadow over her car. Fëanáro was standing outside of it, holding the two paper bags in his arm casually. He wasn't even looking in our direction, but Edina seemed focused on him. "I came to return your car."<p>

Edina nodded, taking the car keys from my extended hand, and the McDonalds bag as well, after making a disapproving, but teasing sound with her tongue. "Right. I just have one question to ask."

"Yes?"

"How in the world did you pick up such a tall guy? From the theatre, of all places? Or did you find him at the grocery store?"

"Pick up?" I sighed. "I didn't. He's, um, temporarily sharing the apartment with me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"Truly."

"How old is he?"

"I...don't know."

She made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat. "Shame, Drew. You have a guy living in your shelters, and you don't even know his age?"

Obviously, she would not be satisfied unless she got an answer. I racked my brains for a proper age. I didn't want to tell her that he was older than my great-grandparents, and I didn't really want to tell her that he was anywhere younger than me either. Then I had it. "Somewhere around twenty?" He looked youthful enough, so it wasn't unfeasible... Or was it? My mind was still jumbled, and it didn't seem like it was about to sort itself out any time soon.

"If he looks the part," she said, unconvinced. "Well, are you taking the transit bus home? Or are you walking?"

I gave her a look. "Edina. There is a bus stop only seven minutes from here."

"Only you would know such things."

"Well, see you next week, I suppose."

* * *

><p>It was more than seven minutes when we got to the bus stop. By then, Fëanáro was ready to walk the entire distance home, and I was all too against it, telling him that it would take longer to get back than on a transit bus—to which he sat down on the bench and waited patiently.<p>

I glanced behind us, seeing a house that resembled Edina's exactly. It was a brick house, with a one-story dimension, and wider than it was tall. There were only four windows at the front, one giving view of a bedroom with drapes flying out in the cold breeze, another presenting a kitchen in disarray (I had a sneaking suspicion that my kitchen would resemble it after Fëanáro was done with it), and the other two completely blocked off, with only stone grey drapes to entertain my sight.

We waited for approximately three minutes when the bus came.

Fëanáro's eyes were wide as he took in the length of the bus.

I smiled at his amazement and stepped up to the opening door, putting three dollars into the fare box. He absentmindedly followed me into the heart of the bus, watching people leave from the other door. We picked two padded seats in the middle with a messy red design. He sat down and looked around him, almost admiring, and for a moment, I started to worry. What if he wanted to build one of these?

Squashing down my doubts, I leaned against the window and closed my eyes.

The next thing that happened, however, was my head, hitting the window as the bus came to a stop. Drowsily, I opened my eyes and blinked around. Suddenly, half of the people were gone, off the bus, and Fëanáro was shaking his head at me.

"What?" I asked, confused. "Where did all the people go?"

"You fell asleep."

"How long?"

"Not too long," he replied. And then his eyes lit up in recognition. "Ah. We're here."

My legs wobbling dangerously, I stepped off of the bus, following Fëanáro with the groceries. As we walked up the stairs to my door, I fumbled with the key, nearly dropping it, and opened the door. Then I tossed the keys onto the desk and placed my cloak over the chair.

"So..." I said, unsure of how to approach the topic. "How are you going to do this?"

Fëanáro didn't even seem unsure of himself. All he did was grin and ask, "How high do the temperatures go?"

* * *

><p>"Now, you may praise me for my excellent skill in culinary arts," said Fëanáro, a grin on his face as I placed the dirty dishes in the sink to wash later.<p>

I sighed, turned around, and smiled. "Alright, O Mighty Fëanáro of the Kitchen. I admit that your cooking triumphs over all. Now, it's nearly nighttime." I looked at him sternly. "Next time, just set it to four hundred whenever you want to bake something."

He nodded and leaned back into the chair. "You know," he said, "Mahtan could really cook. Except for when he mistook the melted gold for battered eggs, and poured it into the bread pan."

"Really? What was the melted gold doing in the kitchen?"

Fëanáro shook his head. "The question you should be asking is—what was he doing, cooking in the forge?"

I laughed and went into my room, pulling some clothes out of the closet. Perhaps these would fit him, since they were left over from when Freyr was here... But Fëanáro was about five inches taller than Freyr... Damn... Maybe the shirt would fit, since it was mostly Fëanáro's legs that provided the challenge.

_Well, challenge accepted, _I thought to myself.

"Fëanáro?" I called out, holding out a shirt. I tried to recall how broad his shoulders were. Perhaps only a little broader than mine—somewhere around Freyr's.

"Yes?" came the response.

"Would you mind coming here for a moment?" I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. **5:59 PM**.

A moment later, he was standing in the doorway, an eyebrow raised as he said sarcastically, "You called, my lady?"

I nodded, allowing the sarcasm to slip past for once. "Do you think you would fit in this shirt?" And then, thinking it for the better, I held up the black pants as well. "Probably not the pants, since your legs are quite long..."

"Is there something wrong with my current attire?"

"Not at all. It's just... Doesn't it get uncomfortable, wearing the same clothes for a continued amount of time? Such as more than one day?" Although I was one to talk—sometimes I would forget to take my clothes to the laundromat and would have to do it the next day.

Sighing long-sufferingly, he stepped forward and took the shirt from my hands. And then he proceeded to start taking off his shirt, until I stopped him with a horrified exclamation.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, rising to my full height quickly and pulling the hem of his shirt back down.

"I'm trying on the shirt," he responded, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Don't do it in front of me!" I exclaimed, taking the shirt from him, and realising stupidly that taking the shirt I gave him away would not stop him from taking his own shirt off. Sighing, and knowing that he knew this too, I simply held the shirt up to his shoulders and tried to imagine him wearing it. "It...could fit."

"We won't know until I try it on," he said sincerely, but I could see the teasing behind his tone.

I shook my head firmly. "I was brought up in a household of decency. Now, I don't know if you went running around in your house in the nude when you were young, but people in this society certainly do not. It's considered offensive of modesty and prudity."

He smirked. "I didn't...though my children did."

Soon after I recovered from instinctive shock, I realised I was straying too far from the main point of finding clothes for him anyway. I sighed, folded the shirt and tucked into my arms, and strode out of my room, gesturing for him to follow me to the bathroom. Then, I turned the dial to the shower, and his eyes narrowed at the sound of the slight creak. Water started flowing freely, and I gestured to the space behind the curtains.

"This is a shower," I said slowly. "You take your clothes off—I don't mean in front of me, damn it!—and step into the water." I reached behind the shower curtain and pulled out the shampoo bottle. "I'm assuming that Elves used some sort of product to wash their hair? Anyways, there's a loofah." I took the loofah out too, replacing the shampoo bottle. "You use this to..." A bit awkward about saying it, I used it to rub the back of my hand. "Except it's not limited to your hand. And please don't do anything to it... I have to use it too."

Before I forgot it—"Oh, and make sure to wear shower shoes." I bent down and retrieved a pair. "I'm not exactly sure what size you wear...but it's better than just stepping into the tub with bare feet. Athlete's foot is very, very repulsive. And there's a towel, over there, when you're done. When you want to turn off the water, just turn the dial back to its original position."

Fëanáro seemed to be soaking this all in (pardon the pun), for he nodded without a word, and I left before he could start stripping in front of me again. Honestly. One would think a grown Elf would be mature enough not to tease someone else about such things.

Now...off to find pants and all of the other wonderfully compromising stuff. Maybe there was some in the storage closet, since Father was about the same height as Fëanáro.

* * *

><p>Honestly, when I told him not to undress in front of me, I should have told him to keep clothed as well. He came out of the bathroom before I had even managed to reach the hallway, my arms full with clothes, and then I dropped them as he blinked at me. Shirts, pants, and underclothes all simultaneously fell floating to the floor, and I tried quite hard not to bang my head against the wall that was only too close for convenience.<p>

"What."

It wasn't even a question, but just a flat statement to voice my inability to form coherent words besides that simple one just spoken. At least he had the decency to wear a damn towel, but my goodness...did he not have enough common sense _not _to come out of the shower with only a towel around his waist, facing a giant window at the end of the hallway? I could see some pedestrians on the sidewalk, glancing at the window, stopping in their tracks, looking at the window once more, and raising their eyebrows.

Fëanáro tilted his head to the side, locks of slicked back hair falling over his broad, glistening shoulders as he did so.

Without reserve or ceremony, I pushed him into the closest room with a light blush inundating my cheeks, and I could only imagine how this looked to outsiders. Then, I started pulling the clothes into the room, relieved that at least one of the windows was covered by drapes. Though, the clothes did not come easy; I had to step outside into the hallway and kick some of them inside.

Finally, when all of the articles of clothing were in the room, I glared at him.

"What?"

I resisted the urge to allow my hand to drag itself down my face, as I ran it through my hair. "Fëanáro, why did you come out of the bathroom when you weren't even _dressed?_"

"I didn't have any clothes to change into," he responded matter-of-factly, and I could see the amused, mocking grin that he was so used to giving. I did feel annoyed at how this had been true—I took his clothes away with the purpose of washing them later.

At last, I said, "I'm very sorry that I took your clothes. However, I did mean to give you another set so I could wash your old clothes."

"See? I simply walked outside in search of my clothes."

"Right," I said irritably. "Well, here are your new clothes. Say hello."

"Greetings."

I sighed. "Great. Well, since you're already without a shirt, just put one on that fits." Because my eyes still appreciated modesty and not nudity, I turned around and faced the door, trying very hard to focus on something else. "Oh, and the short pants—those are boxers. I hope you know what those are."

"Sure," came the sarcastic respond.

And so, I stood there awkwardly, for five minutes, as I listened to him grumble about how the shirts did fit, but they were too short, or the pants were simply too big, or something that pretty much had the connotation of _rejection_ on the end of it.

"I'm finished," he said, calmly—so calmly that I was almost willing exposure to the police of the sword in my storage room that he was in fact teasing me and still as bare as the day he was born. But he sensed my doubt and sighed. "I am being quite serious."

I turned around.

With my eyes closed.

"Wonderful," I told him, backing away into the wall and feeling for the doorknob. "Now, I shall be outside, preparing for my pop quiz tomorrow." Then, thinking to remind him, I added, "And I'm working tomorrow. So I may or may not have to have you stay with my close friend, Edina. If you won't mind." Before he could respond, I twisted the doorknob open quickly and retraced my steps from the hallway, closing the door behind me and sighing in relief.

At last, I opened my eyes. I guess it was my turn to take the shower then.

But damn it, my clothes were in the room that he was in.

* * *

><p>-O-<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, I'm a bit ashamed. This wasn't as long as the second or third chapter.<br>But it was pretty awkward to write. I have, in fact, seen men with bare chests.  
><strong>With Fëanáro, however, it's more like staring down the mouth of a lion.

Oh, and Siiw - yes... _Jeg snakker norsk._

_Norwegian:  
><em>_hallo - _basically what people say when answering the telephone - hello  
><em>Hun gjorde - <em>she did  
><em>Beklager - <em>sorry

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	5. A Bottle of Black

**You're in for a real shock in this one.**

* * *

><p>Today, when I woke up, I was convinced that all of the past few days were a dream. In fact, I was so far gone that I promised to myself, quite idiotically, that today would be pretty normal, because apparently, I had ended up back in my own bed and not the lumpy old couch, though my shoulder was starting to hurt. I was foolish enough to think to myself—today's going to be a normal day, lonely without my family, with normal people, normal apartment, normal professors, a normal Edina, and a normal...<p>

"So you're awake? Finally."

...Elf.

Well, I had been about to say a normal cup of coffee...

I nearly groaned in frustration. "...I'm getting up, I'm getting up," I grumbled, climbing out of my bed reluctantly. Then, I stumbled across the floor as I realised two things.

I wasn't on the couch.

Fëanáro wasn't on the bed, but standing by it, an amused look on his face.

"Am I awake?" I asked myself, pinching my arm for affirmation.

"Quite."

I turned to the bed, then to him, and then the bed again. "How did I get to the bed?"

As soon as he sat down on the covers, I knew it was going to be some sort of a story. With a smirk on his face, he told me very calmly, "You see, you fell off of the couch that you had been sleeping on. Obviously it wasn't very comfortable. So, I took the liberty of carrying you to your own bed while you were half-asleep."

No wonder my shoulder felt sore... "Oh. Thank you."

Walking out of the room with a sigh, I blindly turned on the lights in the living room and glanced at the clock, trying to adjust to the light simultaneously. It read six o'clock. Shutting my eyes quickly, I walked back to the bedroom, fumbling with the door knob and pushing the door open. Then I went to the closet, opened my eyes, and grabbed a long-sleeved shirt, green sweater, and jeans. All the while, Fëanáro watched my rushed procession as I stepped through the second door to the same bathroom, turning on the sink and placing my clothes next to it.

Half-heartedly, I brushed back my bangs in an attempt to tell myself that it would be just fine. Today was the last day of class, and the rest of the Christmas holidays - _my_ Christmas holidays, at least - was going to be dedicated to research. Hurra. Research. I would have much rather been with my family. I hurriedly pulled my shirt and sweater over my head, my jeans over my legs, and splashed water onto my face. Then I started to rapidly brush my teeth.

It was always this vicious cycle in which I would wake up, become disoriented, think of random things, and then rush to Starbucks.

Rather tiring, now that I thought about it.

"We're going to Starbucks," I announced, as I walked into the living room. And then the first blast of cold air hit me, and my eyes widened in shock as I realised that the front door was flung open. And Fëanáro was outside, in the cold, with only a short-sleeved shirt and pants on!

Then, annoyance overrode shock.

"What are you doing outside in the _bloody freezing cold?_" I exclaimed, stalking over to the door and pulling him back inside, shutting the door behind him. With a shiver, I stepped back and plopped down on the couch. "I can't believe you. You wear a thin cotton t-shirt, and I'm wearing a damn sweater, for goodness sake, and you're not cold at _all?"_

_"_Cold?" he repeated, surprised.

"Positively!" I snapped, getting up again to reach for the coat rack and slip my coat around my shoulders. "I love snow, believe me, but I hate being cold. That's why I drink coffee. Because I get cold. Easily. You can feel my hands right now—they are blocks of ice on my wrists. And each finger is a protruding icicle!"

"Are you overreacting because you're cold?" he asked, incredulous.

"No," I replied, gritting my teeth. _It wasn't because I was reminded of a particular scene in my mind at all. I swear upon the precious._ "Let's just go to Starbucks—and get you a coat while we're at it..."

"But I'm not cold."

I rolled my eyes. "It doesn't matter—it will draw attention from the public eye that _you_ in the middle of freezing winter are completely _bare_ at the arms and don't seem affected at _all_ by the stinging cold of snow!"

He snorted. "It's not as if you have never been barely clothed in the snow!"

Well... I wasn't about to tell him about that one time that I had been dared to streak from the Christmas tree to our house in Norway... And then caught a high fever because of it... I wanted to pin the blame on Aksel for giving me that dare, since it had been his year to choose.

"I... That was a dare."

"What?"

"Never mind!" I said, getting embarrassed. "I just want to go to Starbucks, get coffee, and get to school as quickly as possible. And as inconspicuously as possible!"

* * *

><p>It was warm in the cafe. It made me feel right at home when I entered, and as I walked up to the counter, he, in a jacket that I managed to find, plopped down into a booth and waited patiently. I almost felt a bit bad for yelling at him this morning, but he shouldn't have startled me. And I wouldn't have overreacted either if there hadn't been snow. As I took two cups of coffee to the booth, I thought about later on that day, when I would have to work, and he would have nowhere to go.<p>

"You don't honestly mean for me to drink this," he deadpanned, as I set the cup down before him and slid in the seat across from him, sipping at my own. "It smells a bit like poison and cocoa beans mixed together in one."

"That's because it is," I returned with levity. "And it feels good to be drugged."

Fëanáro sighed. "I worry for your race."

"Really? Because Norwegians consume the highest amount of coffee, with consumption to population. I don't think you should be too worried about me—you should be more worried about my brother who—" I was cut off by my phone ringing again and cursed, "—is probably calling me right now," I finished lamely.

My accusations were proved right.

"_Hey! You're awake!"_

"Of course I am. Good morning to you too."

"_It's noon here. Nice to see you waking up six thirty. Did you have a bad dream?"_

"Nightmare," I confirmed, glaring at Fëanáro. He simply grinned at me, and too late, I spotted his devious smirk behind it.

"May I speak to your brother?" he said innocently.

I held my index finger up to my throat and pretended to slit it, shaking my head furiously.

"_...Who is that, sis? Who's that you're sitting with?"_

"What makes you think I'm sitting with him?"

_"Aha! So it's a him!" _Fëanáro held his hand out for the phone. Grudgingly, I handed it to him, noting that it was no use to tell Aksel that there was no such voice speaking, and no such Elf sitting next to me, refusing to drink the best drug ever. That was blasphemy, to me.

"Hello," Fëanáro said, with a jovial tone. "Are you Drew's younger brother?"

"_Yes. And if you break her heart, I will come to America and break your neck."_

I banged my head against the table.

"Oh, of course. I promise to take good care of her. She will never have to eat that horrid, steaming pile of bound, predestined indigestion ever again." I knew he was still talking shit about my lasagna. I just knew it.

For good measure, I allowed my head to drop to the flat surface of the table harder this time. Then, I looked up, rubbing my forehead, and glaring at Fëanáro as he started chatting up _my_ younger brother. Apparently, also the younger brother who was under the severe misconception that I could ever be romantically inclined to a clinically insane idiot who chased a perverted deity across an entire continent and ended up in the Elvish equivalent of heaven and hell mixed in one for his jewels. Obviously, Aksel was not in his right mind.

I couldn't take it any longer as Aksel started to, without restraint, relate to him tales of my embarrassing dares. And how I accepted them without rational thinking.

"Give me back the phone," I growled.

He simply sighed and gave it back.

"_Oh, come on! I never get to talk to any of your boyfriends!" _Then, with an afterthought, he added, "_And this one is your first one too!"_

I hoped Aksel could imagine me right now—a bull, ready to charge a matador, nostrils flaring in fury, with silver horns glinting in the hot, Spanish sunlight, ready to impale not the red cape, but the matador himself. "He is not my boyfriend, and that is disgusting," I ground out. "He is simply under my custody until he goes away."

"That's mean, Drew," Fëanáro said, placing a hand over his heart and pretending to look heartbroken. I scowled at him.

"_You don't have to deny it vehemently because you're embarrassed," _piped up Aksel.

I sighed and dragged my hand down my face in exasperation. That was just gross, thinking about Fëanáro in such a light. He was older than my great-grandfather, for the love of all that's holy! "I'm vehemently denying it because he is _not,_ and that is just utterly repulsive to think of him that way! I'd sooner let him go at it with..." I tried to conjure up the name that brought bile to my tongue, "...Nora! I swear to Thor. I'm just trying to get you to see how entirely impossible and scandalous and inane that is!"

_"Living dictionary."_

"Just because I say three words that describe how I'm feeling?"

_"No, because you're obviously using weird-sounding words like inane, which sounds a bit like insane, but whatever. I guess it's the same thing, just missing an 's'. Oh, and Freyr wanted to say hei, but he went to work, so he didn't have the time..."_

"Okay, tell Freyr I said _hei..._and if you _dare_ say anything about this, I will not be responsible for the expletives that'll flow over the phone when he questions me."

"_I promise, I promise. Bye."_

"Bye."

Then I glared at Fëanáro as I closed the phone with a click, sipping my coffee and secretly plotting ways to kill him as I chewed on the lid in irritation.

He grinned innocently back.

* * *

><p>After the great number of hours I spent studying for this quiz last night, I received a satisfactory grin from Professor Bern as he handed me my paper. I was not surprised to find that every student had passed, since we had obviously long since picked up on his tricks.<p>

"Since this is the last formal day of class..." We were both thinking about the same thing. I knew it. "Recommendation letter, Drew?" he reminded me, as I gathered my books.

"This Monday," I replied absentmindedly.

"Yes. Did you consider?"

"Already canceled off my plans with my family."

Professor Bern's dark brown eyes twinkled. "You'll be kept company, I'm sure. Several people are staying to do the same research. For one, Will, you know, the fine young man who sits next to you in class, will be attending the sessions..."

"This sounds like a therapist session. Group therapy."

"Try not to think of it like research," he told me, softly. "Think of it as gaining experience as a psychologist. A therapist. Isn't that what you want to become?"

I pondered for a moment. And then the sharp urge to say something sarcastic came over me. "But I'm not exactly too happy about having the title that, if you separate the two words with a space, becomes the rapist. I hope you know that."

He chuckled. "You're silly. In a good way."

_I was being sarcastic,_ I thought to myself. "Right... Well, good day, Professor Bern."

* * *

><p>My phone rang again, and I was in the cafeteria, deciding for once to introduce Fëanáro to the world of college students. With hesitation, I answered the phone. Aksel would have been eating by now, not calling me, and Edina was on her work shift...<p>

"_Hey, tall one!"_

Shit. "How did you get my phone number?" Okay, maybe my response wasn't too cordial. At all.

"_Phone book? Calling the office of your university? Getting your phone number? Not too difficult. So what do you say?"_

"I don't have a violin," I pointed out.

_"Easily taken care of—you can borrow one of the school's."_

_"_I haven't played in a long time?"

_"Won't work,"_ she replied. "_But I've moved the time to March, if that's fine with you."_

_No, that is not fine with me, _I started to say, but stopped myself. "Um... All right..." Then she abruptly hung up, and I slumped back in the cafeteria chair. I really needed to say no. I mean, doing the dares was one thing, but being forced into something? I really needed help on that.

Fëanáro gingerly touched my shoulder. "Time to go?"

I glanced at the phone. One-thirty. "Right. Golden Rim. Transit bus." My phone started ringing again as I started to go through the plan in my head mentally. Annoyed, I answered it impatiently, not bothering to check caller ID. "What?"

_"Whoa, no need to get so pissed with me, Drew. Did I do something wrong?"_

I sighed. "Sorry, Edina. I thought you were the person who just called me..." Then my eyes lit up. "Oh, right! I meant to ask you a favor! Do you mind...watching over this friend of mine?"

"_Sure, but I was going to ask you a favor too."_

"Shoot."

_"Okay, well... My parents are having this 'party' for the bookstore anniversary opening, and I really, really don't want to be there alone with all these 'mature' people—and by the end of the party, everyone's going to be stoned and smashed, and my bedroom will be occupied with some divorced lady making out with someone else's husband—or better yet, another person's _wife—_and I will be the unintentional, awkward third wheel person in my own damn house, and I was wondering if I could crash at your apartment afterwards?"_

It took my brain a moment to register the request. And shockingly, stupidly enough, the first question I ask? "Do I have to wear a dress?"

_"You don't _have_ to, but most of the women do. Heck, I won't, if it makes you happy."_

A deal for a deal? But then how I was going to manage the factor of three fairly tall people, one small apartment, and only one bed? "Um... Sure. If you don't mind sleeping on the couch, since my friend sleeps on the bed..."

"_So where do you sleep if I'm there? The floor?"_

"Might as well." As long as she could control Fëanáro... And I was pretty desperate.

Fëanáro entered the conversation at this point. "Or you two girls could sleep on the bed, and I'll sleep on the couch."

_"Hey, that would work! Thanks, mystery friend—oh shit_." She cut herself off at the last moment of praise. "_Great. I was just reminded of my own statement a few seconds earlier. Divorced lady making out with another person's wife." _Her shudder was audible. _"Okay... Nah. We can just both sleep on the floor, and no one gets the couch, deal?"_

"Deal..."

* * *

><p>I dropped Fëanáro off at Edina's house, and she nearly gasped with recognition as the bus caught up with the seven minute walk from the bus stop to her house. She waved to me, and I could see her lips move as they let slip the words: "You're that tall guy!" And to think, only two days ago, she was calling us tall as hell. As quickly as possible, when the bus stopped, I got off, entered the restaurant through the back door, and pulled on an apron decked with straws and silverware.<p>

Then I took a familiar writing pad and pen in hand, headed outside as I signed my name on the roster. The near unintelligible scrawl on the paper was my name, and next to it was Arlyss McEvans. She was a nice girl. But too nice. A high-schooler, by the looks of it, and she was a slight pushover. Arlyss allowed her peers to harass her, and once, I had to comfort her.

It wasn't exactly the best night of my life, wrapping my arms around a girl awkwardly as she soaked my shoulder with tears.

"Hey, Drew!" she greeted me cheerfully, tearing an order from the notepad and placing it next to the bell that she ringed subsequently.

I offered her a smile. At least she looked confident today, but that was just my pessimistic view of things.

Or was I just being realistic?

Shaking my head and pulling my hair into a ponytail, as a protocol, I guided the new customers to their table. A party of five, as it seemed, and Arlyss' classmates.

This would be eventful.

* * *

><p>When I said it would be eventful, I meant to be cleverly sarcastic. That clearly wasn't a challenge to whoever intended to play games with my life and give me Fëanáro as a housemate for the next six months of my life. It was already five til six when Fëanáro came into the restaurant, without a jacket, with the freezing cold breeze waltzing into the warm atmosphere with him. I glared at him, and before I knew it, Edina joined him.<p>

"Time to go!" she chirped cheerfully.

"What? I have five minutes to go and—"

"—that clock is slow," she replied, brushing off my protest and dragging me along.

I barely had time to take off the apron, hand it to the manager, along with my pen and notepad, before I was pulled outside. Into the freezing cold. Without my coat.

"Hey! My coat!"

With obvious reluctance, Edina allowed me to retrieve my coat before she pulled me into the backseat of her red car.

And Fëanáro was driving.

"_What the hell?_" I exclaimed. "He's driving?"

"Yeah! He drives really fast! We'll be there in no time!"

I nearly choked at Edina's words. "Slow down, Fëanáro! I felt a little sick as I glanced at the speedometer. I had no idea what the speed limit was, but I was pretty sure that he was well over it! If we got arrested, I would force-feed the 'horrid, steaming pile of bound, predestined indigestion' to him once we got out. As promised, we were there, at Edina's house, in no time. And there was no space for a parking place anywhere.

The garage was occupied, the driveway was occupied, and the roads were occupied. I just only hoped that each person brought their separate car, and not five people along with it...

"How many people?" I asked her.

"About twenty," she replied nonchalantly.

Oh great. Could this get even worse?

And life, that was clearly a rhetorical challenge, not meant to be answered.

* * *

><p>When we got back to my apartment, Edina was very much sober and but somehow excited. At least she wouldn't be <em>sleeping<em> on the floor... I was very much tired, however, and drenched with sweat. Fëanáro didn't even look disturbed by the heat, and he drove leisurely this time, much to my relief. Like she said, there was a woman, presumably divorced, kissing the jaw of another woman. But we did not anticipate the man underneath both of them.

I shuddered at the reminder of it.

"Still thinking about the three people in my room?" she asked with good cheer.

"...As much as it pains me to even speak of it, since I'll think about it again after I do, yes."

"Just think. I'll be the one cleaning that up tomorrow morning."

At least tomorrow was a free day... A relaxing Saturday, where I would only have to work at the bookstore and...face Edina's father as I recall the shameful event last night in which he was actually the one giving an unexpected lap dance to his own wife... Okay, I would never be able to look him in the eye ever again.

After Edina finished showering, I stepped into the shower myself and allowed the warm water to relax my tense muscles.

The night's horrible occurrences kept flashing through my brain, damn it!

Closing my eyes, I grasped for the brush, and found the handle strangely wide, but I simply ignored the odd feeling. I was sure of it that I did not mistake my brush for Edina's...whatever it was. Then I began to brush my hair quickly, but oddly enough, I felt a faint stickiness amongst my hair, even though the water only hit my collarbones. Blinking, I opened my eyes and felt my hair. Nothing seemed to be wrong... I shrugged to myself, closed my eyes once more, placed the brush down on the nearest ledge, and held up the loofah.

Thirty minutes later, when I stepped out of the shower, having thoroughly cleaned out my hair ten minutes after because it felt slightly weird, I wiped away the fog at the mirror. I glanced to the shower and noted that the brush was still on a lower ledge, and I remembered putting the item on a higher ledge—then something caught my eye. An odd bottle, with black liquid inside of it, and to top it all off, a comb-like cap that appeared to... Oh no.

And then I screamed at my reflection, when I looked back the mirror.

I could only assume that this bottle belonged to Edina, if she had been planning to do this for a while now and only asked to stay at my house out of convenience for it, but...

My hair was now not pale blonde, but midnight black.

* * *

><p><strong>Before you start to say that there is no way I could have accomplished that with closed eyes, let me say that I didn't accomplish it. There will obviously be some flaws in the dyeing part. I'd be wrong-footed to have black hair.<strong>

_Norwegian:  
>hei - <em>hi


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